


A Journey On The “U.S.S. Enterprise” (1902)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [208]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Star Trek: The Original Series, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Boats and Ships, Destiel - Freeform, Diplomacy, Enterprise, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Seasickness, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes, spirk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 12:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11828760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Sherlock has only a limited time in which to resolve a potentially awkward diplomatic situation aboard the "U.S.S. Enterprise". And John spends a lot of time looking down the side of a ship, saying farewell to various meals that he had been all too briefly acquainted with.





	A Journey On The “U.S.S. Enterprise” (1902)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [majesticduxk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesticduxk/gifts).



> Mentioned elsewhere as 'the litmus paper case'.

**Off Gravesend, Kent**

The huge triple-masted sloop we were on was, I knew, less than thirty years old, and yet it already looked as if it belonged to a bygone era. The _“U.S.S. Enterprise”_ had been designed primarily as a science vessel, and having long been superseded by faster and better craft, had been handed over to a training college in the United States. It had however recently been on our side of the Great Water, first to show an American presence in the Mediterranean, then as part of the recent Coronation celebrations and finally on a goodwill visit to the port of Boston, Lincolnshire, whence the _“Mayflower”_ settlers had come from long, long ago. Now she was on her way home – except there was a rather delicate matter to deal with first, which was why Sherlock had been brought in.

I leant over the side and uttered a silent and heartfelt curse against King Neptune, who seemed determined to make my latest (and hopefully last!) long sea-journey as unpleasant as so many before it. The problem facing my friend was one of jurisdiction; the incident had occurred whilst the ship had been in British waters. Hence the American ambassador had agreed to Sherlock going on board to try to find out what had happened, on the premise that the ship was definitely sailing for home, and we would be leaving the ship at Falmouth whether my friend's investigations were concluded or not. One day out from London, and I was already feeling decidedly unwell.

The captain of the ship was an annoyingly young and frighteningly focussed fellow called James Tiberius Kirk (I privately felt the emphasis should have been on the middle name). He made it patently clear that Sherlock's presence on his ship was only tolerated because he had been overruled, and that he could not wait to be rid of us. The captain's second-in-command was an even stranger fellow, a Mr. Zachary Spock. He was tall, dark-haired and, I felt, almost other-worldly in his manner. Indeed, I was half-minded to suspect that Mr. Herbert George Wells had been partly right, and that the Martians were already here but in a good disguise (his slightly pointed ears did not help matters, either). He was not exactly unfriendly, just clinical and coldly efficient. Fortunately the ship's doctor was a much more pleasant fellow called Leonard McCoy, and we bonded over medicinal matters as people in our profession often did. It was he who explained the case to us.

“One of President Roosevelt's buddies, a guy called George van der Walk, has been over in your country for a year, sailing his yacht around the British Isles”, he said. “When we were leaving Boston he ran across us – or more exactly, we ran across him. He ignored warnings to keep clear, and we ended up splitting his craft in two and having to pick him out of the water. He wasn't exactly thrilled, as you might guess.”

Sherlock nodded. 

“My brother Luke was most uninformative as to exactly what 'crime' had been perpetrated”, he said, sounding annoyed. “Or even if there had been a crime.”

Doctor McCoy looked oddly embarrassed for some reason.

“You see, this van der Walk guy, he is half-English”, he said. “And when we took him on board, well, as I said he was not happy to start with. But in the short time we took to get from Boston to here, he managed to upset just about everyone on board. He was rude, arrogant, overbearing.... frankly it would not have surprised me if you had been investigating his murder, gentlemen. But it is not as serious as that, thankfully.”

“The captain naturally ceded his own cabin for the comfort of our 'honoured guest', and yesterday he rose as usual, took a shower and... um....”

He juddered to a halt. We both looked at him expectantly.

“One of the men must have substituted his normal soap with one that was imbued with itching powder”, the doctor said, red-faced. “He was absolutely furious! He told the captain that he would be calling on his friend the president to make sure that none of us ever sailed again. As you know, this crew were brought on board specially for this trip, as the “Enterprise” these days is only a training ship, so I do not want to see all those careers ruined just because of a foolish prank.”

“I do not see that I am going to be much help to you”, Sherlock sighed. “I could in all probability find the culprit – but then that person's life will be ruined for a silly jape. Still, I suppose it is better that than several dozen people suffering the same fate. Who had access to the captain's cabin?”

The doctor reddened.

“Obviously the captain himself”, he said. “Commander Spock has a key, in case of emergency. But the room is guarded around the clock by one of the young cadets. The captain keeps all sorts of papers in there, I suppose.”

“You, of course, have access as the ship's doctor”, Sherlock said. Doctor McCoy nodded.

“Like the commander, I have to in case I need to assume control of the ship for some reason”, he said. 

I made a side-note that he had not volunteered that information himself.

“Where is the captain sleeping now?” I wondered.

“The last captain, Mr. Pike, had a small side-room fitted out with a basic bunk and bed, because his son wished to come with him on some voyages”, the doctor said. “It has its own external access, and basic facilities. The captain sleeps in there.”

“I think that we need to see the scene of the 'crime”, Sherlock said. “Is Mr. van der Walk there now?”

The doctor shook his head.

“After his experience, he has said he will take a train and meet us when we dock in Falmouth”, he said. “So we are to be spared his company for part of the voyage, at least.”

He did not exactly sound unhappy about that, I noticed. The thought, quite unbidden, arose in my mind that that also meant Sherlock would be unable to question the 'victim' until right at the end of matters. Interesting.

+~+~+

We got another sharp look from Captain Kirk as we made our way to his cabin. A smartly-attired cadet was standing guard outside.

“It's all right, Ensign”, the doctor said. “These gentlemen are allowed in.”

The sailor, who was tall and red-headed, gave us a look that quite clearly said, “gentlemen?”, but stood aside. The doctor led the way inside, and Sherlock looked around disapprovingly.

“Has the soap which caused the itching been tested?” he asked. The doctor shook his head.

“Mr. van der Walk was so enraged by the attack that he threw it clean out of the porthole”, he said, gesturing to the small round window in the opposite wall. “A pity, but it was no doubt that that was what caused the reaction. He was fine at dinner the evening before, and took a shower before turning in that night. He came to me half an hour later, red all over.”

I looked around the generously-appointed quarters, feeling that something was slightly amiss, before it struck me.

“It is very dusty in here?” I said. “Who cleaned the place?”

“No-one”, the doctor said. When we looked at him in surprise, he explained. “Our 'honoured guest' was adamant about his privacy, so it had to stay like this. We would have cleaned it in his absence of course, but Commander Spock insisted that it stay like this until you had seen it.”

Mr. van der Walk was not very clean-minded, I thought, perhaps uncharitably. And all that talk about itching was making me want to scratch. Sherlock looked up to a small rotary fan in the ceiling.

“You have air-conditioning here?” he asked.

“We are directly above the engine-room, and next to one of the vents”, the doctor explained. “This room, and the adjoining commander's quarters for that matter, both tend to get very hot. Fortunately it only needs a small amount of power to run the fans.”

Sherlock pulled out a pair of gloves from his pocket, then ran his finger along one of the framed pictures on the wall. I wondered why he had done that just to collect some dust. He smiled knowingly.

“Tell me, doctor”, he said. “The unpleasant Mr. van der Walk. Did he ever cross swords with any of the ensigns?”

“He thought them all beneath him”, the doctor said scornfully. “Except Lieutenant-Commander Scott, the chief engineer. Mr. van der Walk considered himself an expert on such matters, the sort who obviously _had_ to share his expertise with anyone and everyone.”

I winced. I knew how tetchy some professionals could get when amateurs started telling them their business. I had more than enough trouble with patients who, having read some book or other, were sure that they had some rare tropical disease rather than a common cold or the winter flu.

“Any others?” Sherlock asked.

“As I said, he did not get on with anybody”, the doctor said firmly. “I do not like to ask, but have you any idea who was responsible for the attack?”

“Of course.”

We both stared at him in surprise.

“You know?” I asked, incredulously.

“Well, it seems very obvious”, Sherlock said. “I shall look forward to telling Mr. van der Walk all about it when we meet him at Falmouth.”

Which meant that the bastard was not going to tell us. Damnation! 

+~+~+

**Off the Isle of Sheppey, Kent**

It had been pie for dinner. Had been. And for the few moments it had been inside of me, I had enjoyed it. I retched up the rest of it down the side of the _“Enterprise”_ , and groaned pitifully.

+~+~+

**Off the Isle of Thanet, Kent**

I hurled repeatedly down the side of the ship. Who on earth had thought it to be a good idea to serve spaghetti?

+~+~+

**Off Hove, East Sussex**

It was, I reasoned, fortunate that the _“U.S.S. Enterprise”_ was a sail and steam ship, which meant we could use the engines to force our way down the Channel against a strong westerly wind. Doctor McCoy had tried some powders on me, but the only food that I seemed able to keep down was some dried biscuits, which tasted like cardboard but were at least something. I did not even try the cadets' meat rations, having heard one of them describe it as 'bow-wow mutton' for reasons I could all too well guess!

I had a bad moment that day, as Sherlock wanted to question Commander Spock about something or other, and I most definitely caught the commander eyeing Sherlock's backside as the two of them went into a cabin. I would have hurried to join them, but... no. 

I felt awful!

+~+~+

**Off Gosport, Hampshire**

I had really liked that fish. On the way down, at least.

Mercifully we were now entering the Solent, which meant that we had the protection of the Isle of Wight for a few dozen miles. I might even be able to stand upright and...

No.

+~+~+

**Off the Isle of Purbeck, Dorsetshire**

The wind was, if anything, getting worse, and I was never more grateful that the ship's engines kept us heading westwards. Sherlock joined me as I was sat on deck, and took my hand.

“I have been following up another line of inquiry”, he said. “Commander Spock told me something that I had not known, namely that Mr. van der Walk is of mixed racial origin, his grandmother being black.”

“Is that relevant?” I asked.

“It made me inquire into one of the cadets, a Japanese-American called Mr. Hikaru Sulu”, Sherlock said. “He had made some rather questionable remarks about Mr. van der Walk's ancestry, and his room-mate Mr. Chekov told me that their unwanted guest had got wind of them and had complained to Captain Kirk.”

“Motive”, I said, standing up.

That was a mistake as my stomach turned again, and I only just made it to the side of the ship before I lost the beans that I had had for dinner.

+~+~+

**Off Dartmouth, Devonshire**

I could not wait to get off this bloody ship! Sixty-plus yards of rocking misery!

An interesting encounter today, however, as I saw the normally imperturbable Commander Spock emerging from the captain's room, looking quite ruffled. And with a love-bite which he was a fraction too slow to cover up.

Well, we all know what sailors are!

+~+~+

**Falmouth, Cornwall**

Mr. George van der Walk most definitely lived down to Doctor McCoy's description of him. He was a small man with a screwed up face; I smiled inwardly as for some reason I thought of old Lady Ffarquhar's pug Bowser. This was the mutt's human equivalent.

“Well?” he demanded imperiously. Sherlock smiled.

“I have some news for you, sir”, he said amiably. “Unfortunately you threw the soap out of the port-hole, so we were unable to verify that it was definitely the cause. However, I was able to extract some residue from the shower in your room, and I tested that. I am sorry to say that there is nothing out of the ordinary about it at all, and definitely none of the chemicals involved in itching powder. The only slightly unusual thing is the amount of vanilla essence, which is a little higher than the norm, but that would not of course cause such a reaction to you. Unless.....”

He stopped, deep in thought.

“I have a request to make of you, sir”, he said. “It may seem impertinent, but it might help avoid a whole lot of unpleasantness all round, even for yourself.”

“What do you mean, for me?” he demanded. “I was the victim here, damnation!”

“I am not disputing that”, Sherlock said soothingly. He took out a small testing-kit from his pocket and placed it on the table, before opening it. Our guest went pale.

“I am not giving blood!” he said firmly.

“This is merely an external test”, Sherlock said. “If the paper turns red, all will become clear. If not, then I am afraid that I cannot help you. But either way, you will know.”

The man stared at him suspiciously, but tentatively held out his hand. Sherlock took a strip of paper, then gently dragged it over Mr. Van der Walk's open palm before opening up a vial of transparent liquid.

“What is that?” Mr. van der Walk asked suspiciously.

“Enzymic Fluid”, Sherlock said airily. “Another great modern invention. As the name suggests it acts like an enzyme; it exacerbates even the slightest acidity or alkalinity, whilst itself remaining unaffected." 

He dipped the litmus paper in the... stuff. The paper immediately turned dark red.

“Oh.” 

How Sherlock put so much into those two letters, I did not know.

“What do you mean, 'oh'?” Mr. van der Walk demanded.

“You are, I have heard, something of an engineering expert”, Sherlock said. “Therefore you will have heard of the use of anærobic acid tablets in some older ships' engines.”

I could see both that the man had not, and that the chances of him admitting that were about the same as my swimming the Atlantic. Or keeping any meals down for any length of time on this hell-bucket.

“Some stuff”, he said defensively. “Uh, remind me.”

I hid a smile. Barely.

“It really is an amazing discovery”, Sherlock said, “although most unfortunately it only works on the lower-powered steam engines like the ones on this ship. I have read that the modern warships, whose engines work so much faster, cannot use it, despite the best efforts of all those clever scientists. A small pump is attached to where the coal is stored before being fed into a ship's engines. It sprays the coal beforehand, and makes it burn for that much longer. I have read that the efficiency improvement is as much as twenty-three per cent.”

“Yes, but I do no see....”

“However”, Sherlock interrupted, “there have been one or two cases of people who have been shown to be susceptible to the substance”, Sherlock said. “To them, it brings out the same sort of reaction that young boys achieve through itching-powder. I believe that, some hours before your symptoms manifested themselves, you went and talked with Lieutenant-Commander Scott?”

“Yes, I did”, the man admitted.

“Then that fits perfectly”, Sherlock said. “You see, there is what might be called a 'gestation period', between when the substance makes contact with the body and the eventual reaction. When it happens, the effect is quite sudden, which I believe is what you experienced.”

“Oh”, he said.

“You should be fine, now that the toxins have been flushed through your body”, Sherlock said. “But I would strongly suggest that during your return voyage, you avoid going anywhere near the ship's engines. They do say that second-time reactions are more serious; there is speculation that they might even be fatal, although that is conjecture.” He paused dramatically before adding, “I think.”

“I see”, he said. “Right.”

No thank-you, I noted, as he left us. I grabbed my packed bag – yes, I was that eager to get back onto dry land – whilst Sherlock said our goodbyes to the captain and his crew.

Lieutenant-Commander Scott was waiting to see us off the ship. 

“I just wanted to say”, he said, before stopping. “Er....”

“The words are 'thank' and 'you'”, Sherlock supplied helpfully. “In that order. And you are exceedingly fortunate, young sir. Had Mr. van der Walk been less obnoxious, I might have decided to tell him about your cleverly-arranged little prank.”

The tall Scotsman turned bright red.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “He just had an allergic reaction.”

Sherlock smiled.

“There is no such thing as 'anærobic acid', doctor”, he said. “I made it up, in the certain knowledge that our vain guest would not want to admit his ignorance on the subject. And the “Enzymic Fluid” that I dipped the paper in was actually a strong acid.”

I goggled at him. Sherlock turned back to the lieutenant-commander.

“I can only hope”, he said, “that you put your undoubted engineering abilities to better uses in future. And you will be pleased to know that the captain has had the cabin thoroughly cleaned before your unwelcome guest returned.”

“What?” I asked, confused.

“Lieutenant-Commander Scott did not take kindly to some jackanapes telling him how to run his engine-room properly”, Sherlock explained. “So he rigged up an apparatus into the cooling fan. Itching-powder was pumped in along with the cool air, and it quickly covered the whole apartment.”

So that was what the gloves had been for, I thought.

“He was so full of himself”, the sailor scoffed. “The peace and quiet when he was red all over – it was great!”

Sherlock shook his head at him but smiled, and escorted me back onto some wonderful dry land. Hallelujah!

+~+~+

As it was around midday when we left the ship, I fully expected Sherlock to want to take a train back to his beloved London. Instead however, he took me to a large hotel on the sea-front in the Cornish port.

“I thought that you would do better if you had a whole day on dry land, before having a rocky train-journey”, he explained. 

I smiled. How considerate of him.

“Besides”, he grinned darkly, “I have had to go for far too long without sex, so as not to offend the sensibilities of our American hosts. So I plan to keep you in our room here and have enough sex to make up for that!”

And with that, the bastard walked off, leaving me to hold my bag in front of me to avoid.... well, you know what.

Yes you do!

+~+~+

We were three days in that hotel. I think. I may have lost track of time somewhat.

Twenty months to go.

+~+~+

Postscriptum: The ship in this story was the fourth _“U.S.S. Enterprise”_ in the United States Navy, the name deriving from an early eighteenth century captured French ship which, in the custom of the time, had in its brief Royal Navy career had its name Anglicized from _'L'Entreprise'_. As I complete this final "Elementary" in 1936, a huge aircraft-carrier has become the fifth to bear the name; it is some four times the length of the ship that we sailed on and of course infinitely stronger. May King Neptune grant its brave sailors the calm seas that he most cruelly denied me!

+~+~+

In our next case, there is another (thankfully both calmer and shorter) sea-journey, and the bees foretell a murder.


End file.
